Wichiree
by frostygossamer
Summary: It'd been 3 days since Dean had spoken to Sam...


A/N: This started out as a multi-tweet fic for my Twitter account frostygossamer, but it got kinda enormous and I bottled out. So I'm posting it here instead.

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It'd been 3 days since Dean had spoken to Sam. He'd left his brother in Wichiree, MO, pursuing a simple ghost, and motored on to Ohio.

Sam hadn't been answering his cellphone, and Dean would've been getting more anxious, if Sam and he hadn't had WORDS before they split.

Dean knew Sam could be a grudgy bitch sometimes, but he wasn't happy out of the loop. Sam could've gotten in trouble, be hurt, be dead.

After wrapping up his murderous poltergeist case in OH, Dean burned rubber back to Wichiree, to give Sam a piece of his freakin' mind.

The moment Dean put boot on gravel in Wichiree, he knew something was wrong. The sleepy town he remembered now had an eery edge to it.

He went straight to the one dingy motel the place boasted. In the office, Dean was greeted by an odd guy with a red nose, "Can I help?"

"You got a guest here 'bout yay big," Dean asked, stretching his hand over his head, "and with hair like a girl?" The little guy grinned.

"I guess," he said. "likely that'd be no. 35, buddy." Dean stomped around to no. 35 and hammered on the door. No answer. Sam not home?

Dean slept in the Impala 'til almost 9pm, when he opened an eye and noticed 35's light was on. "Finally," he grunted and went knocking.

The door was opened by the room's occupier. "About time, dude... uh?" gasped Dean. The person standing in the doorway was... a chick.

She was a freakin' tall chick and had her hair like... a girl, obviously. Dean was caught flat-footed. "I, uh, hello, ma'am," he managed.

The woman gave him an icy glare and shook her head irritatedly. "OK," she said. "Seeing as you're here, you may as well come on in."

She motioned Dean into the room and closed the door. Then she sat on the end of the bed and crossed her long legs, smoothing her skirt.

The brunette was six foot plus of gorgeousness and Dean was delighted. It usually took him a mite longer to get in a chick's bedroom.

He sat down on the bed real close. "I, uh, I'm looking for my brother," he began, though the urgency had somehow vanished from his quest.

"Maybe you've seen him around, baby?" he asked. The amazon slapped him across the face. "Ow!" he yowled. "What the hell was that for?"

"For thinking with your little brain when you should be using your big brain," she complained, to Dean's confusion. What had he done?

"Man, you are such a world-class jerk," she went on. Dean felt unjustly judged. "Hey, lady, you invited me in here!" Freakin' tease.

The goddess pouted and stood up. "Look at me. Whaddya see?" Dean smirked. "I see a busty beauty with, uh, legs to die for," he declared.

She put one hand on her hip, smoothing her hair with the other. "You really thinks so?" she asked, trying not to smile. "Yeah," he said.

"Reckon I'm sexy?" she asked. Dean could only nod, his slapped cheek forgotten. "Dude, I'm your brother!" Dean's eyes widened. "Hell no!"

Sam explained how, a couple of days before, he had confronted the spirit of the witch, and she had doozied him with a sex-change curse.

"And you didn't think to call?" Dean asked, angrily. "Didn't want you to see me this way. Reckoned you'd never ever let me forget it."

Dean scoffed. Like he would hassle his brother over something like that. Hell yeah! "So whaddya been doing since then?" he demanded.

Sam looked kinda guilty. Dean tilted his head to one side in question. "I, uh, went shopping," Sam admitted. "The Hell!" gasped Dean.

Dean shook his head and got serious. "OK," he said. "Dress-up time over. We're going back and ganking that freakin' transgenderist."

Dean stormed out of the room followed by Sam at a brisk strut, in her designer heels. They got in the Impala, Sam sitting knees together.

They soon arrived at the site of the witch's still open grave, behind the churchyard. Sam summoned the ghost, reciting a summoning spell.

The old hag appeared in a crazy ectoplasmic swirl. Dean pointed at his ex-brother. "Turn him back," he ordered. "Or we send you to Hell!"

The spectre cackled. "You can't command me to do crapola!" she cried. "I'll fix ya the same way I fixed your interfering little brother!"

She blasted Dean with a zap of her gender-bender hex. Dean looked down at himself. No alteration. "Ha!" he said. "Looks like I'm immune."

The hag screamed in frustration. "My magic has failed me! I've no power to change a guy like you. Dammit! You're already way too pretty!"

Sam leaped forward, poured lighter fluid in the grave and lit it with a match. Flames swallowed up the howling spirit. Sam morphed back.

But Sam was still dressed as a chick. "Let's get going," said Dean, "before someone sees me with a guy in drag and gets the wrong idea."

Sam got in the Impala awkwardly and Dean followed. They headed straight out, as Sam struggled into a pair of jeans in the shotgun seat.

"Dude, you made a damn hot chick," Dean chuckled. "Yeah?" asked Sam, vaguely flattered. Dean grinned. "Admit it. You loved being a lady."

Sam sighed deeply. "I knew it," he groaned. "You're gonna do this all the way to Ohio." "And beyond, sister," Dean smirked. "And beyond."

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed that. Consider yourself tweeted.


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